


Daddy's Home

by HUSHHHUSHHUSH



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Neglect, Sex, gamzee - Freeform, gamzee loves his daddy, his dad, i dont even know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HUSHHHUSHHUSH/pseuds/HUSHHHUSHHUSH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee's daddy is hardly ever home.<br/>Gamzee's daddy hardly ever touches him.<br/>Gamzee's daddy hardly ever talks to him.<br/>Gamzee's daddy loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy's Home

The door closed. Not slammed; but closed, with a soft, deft hand made quiet by the hour.

Rich, supple leather shoes, with some Italian brand, moved across the hardwood; he could visualise hands going up to that tie, to that knot, loosening it. 

He sat up. Flickering images of some shitty anime were ignored as he was out, out of that room and into the hallway. Towards his father. Towards his dad. For a moment, just a moment, he thinks maybe he should've kicked that pipe under his bed, just in case. But that thought left his mind as he barreled into his father's chest. Wrapped his arms around until he could touch elbows.

His father hardly budged. Didn't react, save for a hesitant, tentative patting on Gamzee's back. Almost awkward, but Gamzee wouldn't let it be.

Wouldn't let it be like that time he called him Gavin, or when he missed the one soccer game he made a goal, or when he burnt that grilled cheese, which was all Gamzee would eat for three weeks after he both lost his virginity and was dumped all in the same day. 

His face was buried in his chest, breathing in that scent and holding on. Three weeks of loneliness for him. His dad.

It wasn't long enough. Too soon was his father peeling away arms, releasing himself from his son and walking away. Down the hall, last door on the left. Master bedroom with two closets, one for the missus who was long gone, an attatched bath. 

Gamzee lingered, feeling like he would meld with the floor beneath him, in that odd place between the kitchen and the living room, where tile turned into hardwood and vice versa. His hand gripped the edge of a stool that sat before the island, slipping into the seat and giving himself a moment of sorrow. Let his face rest in his hands and his hands pull at his hair. 

Then he pulled himself up, took in a deep breath like a man drowning and forced himself into sunlight, into joy that his father was home. That he wasn't alone, someone was there. Someone to take up that empty white space the house would always have when it was just him, Gamzee, sitting and smoking and maybe chatting with friends but mostly being alone. 

His tongue traced over his lips and he stood up. Walked forward a few steps, left the stool out of order with the rest of its kin. His mind was hazy; still so foggy from whatever the fuck it was he did one, two days ago. Smoked, drank, maybe even went as far as something less pure and more damaging- he didn't know. Didn't want to know. Wouldn't dwell on it as he kept going, kept walking down the hall.

Down the hall, last door on the left.

He pushed open the door, just as soft as one had previously been shut, stepped over the threshold. A suit lie crumpled at the foot of the bed, the tie curled on the duvel like some languid snake. He reached for it, tangling and weaving it through his fingers, reveling in the gray-and-deep-indigo silk, the stripes looking diagonal in his eyes. 

The light was on in the bathroom, small, momentary sounds accompanying it. The music of routine. 

Another step turned into half a dozen and he was in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching his dad floss his teeth. Flossing was something he preached. It kept from some sort of cancer, kept gums all sparkling clean and for a nice smile. Dental health was very important in a man's life. He watched as he father leaned over to spit into the sink; towel catching slightly on the counter and letting the back of it slide down those last few inchest of his lower back. 

When he finally turned, finally saw Gamzee, he didn't even react. Cold and professional, the epitome of business. 

Tie still laced around his fingers, Gamzee moved forward, putting them chest-to-chest. Bare chest to chest covered by the shirt of some obscure band. 

There were times, in the past, where lines were blurred.

Where a hand would trail its way up his thigh during parent-teacher conferences so he would be a Good Boy, where eyes would stare with a foreign intensity he didn't learn about until high school, where bedtime kisses would last long and sweet. 

Where things were confused. Was it lack of a mother, lack of touch with reality; some fetish with colouring outside the lines, leaving Gamzee at a loss for the difference of Too Much and Just Enough.

Just enough space was between them. He still had to look up, even after all those growth spurts; his father, kept fit with four days at the gym at the least, pinnacle of health, inches taller.

Just enough to lean forward, lips parted; just enough to press lips-to-lips and keep eyes locked. Open and seeing, it wasn't the first kiss of high school sweethearts. 

He wasn't expecting anything except coldness. That corporate man with things to do and none of it being affection. Love. His son. 

Gamzee froze with surprise, shock widening his eyes.

He used tongue. Daddy used tongue.

Waves of something that could be considered heat passed through him, but were intercepted by a swell of something more, something full and bright and warm and fulfilling. A bit of pride, a bit of excitement, but mostly relief. 

Daddy loved him.

His hands went to move, but were stopped by others, forcing him to relax his grip and release the tie, to let those hands weave that tie around one wrist and then the other, ending in a final knot. Binding his hands at his back. Lips were still locked, still parted just enough for tongues to pass and tease one another. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he look at their reflection in the mirror. Hands bound, lips together. 

He shivered with it, forever imprinted in his mind. 

Their kiss broken momentarily, he chuckled. Pressed his forehead into his father's collarbone and looked back up, flipping his hair out of his face before grinning. He pushed forward, pushed until his dad's ass made contact with the counter and they stopped. Pushed forward and began to grind, his hips into his father's, mouth lolling when he feels that hardness. 

Movements still awkward thanks to foolish youth, he watched how they moved together, how his dad moved with and against him. He licked his lips, pressed their chests together, licked at his father's neck, right under the ear. Began to whisper.

"Fuck me," it was so quiet, so soft. "Fuck me, Daddy." Louder. It bounced off the walls, pounding into his brain; a command, a want, a need. If he was in a novella du erotica, three words made entirely of lust. 

His dad didn't make a single noise. His breathing, much like Gamzee's, was hitched; which on its own was enough to make Gamzee's head spin. But he made no sound as he gripped Gamzee's hands, pulling them like a lead on a mule. 

Directing him. He walked, backwards; through territory that shouldn't be as foreign as it was. Until the backs of his knees hit a mattress that was something fancy, some sort of specially developed material that seemed to swallow his body whole as he fell onto it. 

Their cheeks were flushed as hands danced along Gamzee's chest, circling nipples and dipping into his belly button and finally stopping at the waist of his pants. Those hands undid his belt, loosened it until those fingers, so used to tip-tap typing at e-mails snapped open buttons and pulled a zipper down. Slight touches. So small and insignificant yet they were marvelous, forcing Gamzee's hips to move and then he jumped; hips shuddering and shaking as a hand cupped his cock from the outside of his boxers, giving a slow, minute stroke. 

Hands went under the elastic and pulled his boxers down with his pants, leaving him exposed, vulnerable. 

Yet so safe, safe with his daddy. 

Again, that tongue passed over his lips and he looked up at his father with such adoration; something that belonged on someone much younger, not on some nineteen-year-old still living at home, ignoring the idea of going to a university because Daddy was there. Daddy was always there.

"Fuck me, Daddy."

Finally, Daddy made a noise. It was a grunt, but it was something. There was no more hesitation, nothing was tentative about the way he flipped Gamzee onto his stomach, grabbed him by the hips and pulled his ass into the air. Any unsurity about the situation was wiped away with those hands, those hands that spread Gamzee's cheeks, leaving Gamzee's thighs trembling as they struggled for balance without the aid of his arms, and so, so open. 

One thumb pushed into that ring of muscle, and it hurt. Naturally his body fought the intrusion, even as Gamzee tried to relax against it, it hurt. His face buried in that idiotically expensive duvet, he bit at his own lip, not making a sound. He was a Big Boy. A Big, strong Boy. He could and would handle whatever he could to make his daddy happy.

That thumb went in and out a few dozen times, slowly stretching him for the switch to one then two fingers. A few teasing movements of those and one fingertip brushed against a spot that was oh-so good; a spot that released a small wave of pleasure. Nothing blinding, but enough to make him enjoy it, to coo to his daddy as the movements kept going, with the addition of a third finger. 

He moaned, pushing against his father's fingers, bumping against that spot again and again because it felt so good. So good he closed his eyes, cursed the sudden empty feeling as they were removed, moved his ass closer to his daddy, wanting more. He was pacified by the feeling of something replacing them, something slightly bigger, softer and shaped much more appropriately. Again, he moaned; pushing against it and not even wincing as the head of his daddy's cock went into his asshole. 

"Fuck, f-fuck," his voice was muffled by the mattress, "shit. Fuck, fuck me," his father obliged, giving a sharp thrust, moving until he was in to the hilt. Gamzee let out a groan, hands at his back clenching into fists. "Fuck me, fuck, fuck me, Daddy."

Gentleness and tenderness were washed away as his daddy began to pound into him, taking no heed to the absense of lube nor the newness of the entire experience. He grabbed Gamzee's bound wrists, using them to pull his son onto his cock, thrusting and thrusting, leaning forward into it all and taking one hand to his son's hair, pulling and tugging and arching. 

Gamzee wasn't even making sense anymore; no words came from his mouth, only gibberish and noise that was unfamiliar, sounds he didn't know he was capable of. He was shaking, shaking and moaning and there were tears- but he didn't know what they were from and frankly, didn't care. He felt so loved. So cared for and everything was full of pleasure and joy as he daddy pummeled his ass, groaning and grunting and animalistic. Gamzee's world was spinning and colourful, sharp and sparkling and blurry all at the same time. When his daddy's hand came down to stroke his cock, in time with his own thrusts, he almost couldn't handle it. It was spinning too fast, the world was too off-kilter, it almost hurt how good it all felt. 

Daddy came first. He gave one last thrust and leaned forward and kissed the back of Gamzee's neck. The warmth spread in Gamzee's ass and with the slowing strokes on his shaft, teasing little brushes on his head, he followed; everything amplified in his climax as his daddy whispered in his ear. 

"I love you": three words. Three words meant for him, only him. He spilled over onto that duvet, into his daddy's hands. Squirming and shuddering and eyes flickering open and then closed again, he was lost for those moments. 

They lie there, for a time; sprawled, one on top of the other, panting and sweaty and recovering. Then Daddy pulled out, pulled away from Gamzee. He climbed onto the bed, under the covers. Curled up. 

After a minute, he motioned to Gamzee, patted the spot in front of him. Smiled, even. 

Still bound, ass still an absolute mess, Gamzee molded himself against his daddy, used his daddy's arm as a pillow, and felt so content. So loved. Adored. 

His daddy loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> wow i didn't even look over this so if you catch errors, whoops  
> once upon a time it was typed on my phone but then i deleted it and this is the re-typed version  
> i'm still mad about that  
> i'm kind of terrible at porn so i apologise


End file.
